


Push Through the Ache

by Uniasus



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin, Darkish Merlin, Gen, Light Angst, Season 5 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: It wasn't Arthur who walked into the room first. And really, Merlin should have considered that possibility. Poor Gwen, she did not need to walk into her bedroom to see Morgana's body propped up at the table.





	Push Through the Ache

**Author's Note:**

> Random thing I found on my harddrive I had to finish due to jetlag insomnia. I think it's pretty good, but it is the wee early hours of the morning.

It wasn't Arthur who walked into the room first. And really, Merlin should have considered that possibility. Poor Gwen, she did not need to walk into her bedroom to see Morgana propped up at the table.

"Could you fetch Arthur?" Merlin asked from his spot on the windowsill.

Gwen turned wide eyes from Morgana to Merlin, starting to tremble. "Merlin?" she whispered.

Merlin turned to look at her fully, abandoning his view of the city he'll admit he missed. "Yeah, it's me."

With a sob, Gwen rushed forward in a flurry of fabric. Merlin found himself with an armful of queen, who made no attempt to stop crying as she pressed her cheek into the top of Merlin's head. "You're alive!"

Guilty, Merlin squeezed Gwen around the middle and pulled her down on the windowsill with him. His impulse to leave Arthur and the knights in the woods at Ismere had been part petty anger, part frustration, and part creeping weariness. Most, of course, had been brought out by the knights and Arthur, so he had felt justified in his actions for the first few days. And then, well, he remembered the others he left behind. Gaius. Gwen. A few of the friendly servants.

He could send magical communications to Gaius. The others, not so much. To make it even, he left them all in the dark.

Gently, Merlin pushed Gwen away. “I really need to talk to Arthur. Can you get him?”

Gwen’s gaze flickered to the body at the table. “Yes. And afterward, we’re chatting by the fire. Like old time.”

“Like old times,” Merlin agreed.

Gwen went to the waredrobe, pulled out an old cloak of Arthur’s, and draped it over Merlin’s shoulders. “You’re freezing, so have this while you wait.”

Merlin didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t feel the cold anymore. Simply returned her smile and watched her leave.

He sat there, twenty minutes or so, staring out the window and stroking the red fabric. Snow fell, the first of the year, and he could feel the earth around the castle roll over as it settled into sleep. Things were slow in winter, _he_ was slow in winter, so he wanted this taken care of this week.

The door banged opened and Merlin whipped his head around to stare at a heaving Arthur in the doorway.

“You idiot,” he said. Completely ignoring his sister at the table, he rushed to the windowsill to pull Merlin into a hug.

Merlin sank into it. He’d missed so much of this. Hugs. Positive human contact. Being referred to with fondness. Arthur’s scent and warmth. Arthur.

“It’s been three years,” Arthur choked out into Merlin’s neck. He trembled.

Merlin placed cautious arms around his king. “Sorry. I was busy.”

Arthur snorted.

Merlin closed his eyes and absorbed the moment. One second. Two seconds. Three. Four.

He pushed Arthur away. As much as he had missed this, he had left for a reason.

“Morgana will trouble you no more.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder at his sister.

“She’s…”

“Dead.” Merlin finished. “I killed her. See for yourself.”

Arthur’s look said he clearly didn’t believe Merlin capable of such a thing, but he examined his sister body anyway. Two days dead, she was starting to smell. It was obvious she’d be troubling Camelot no more.

Merlin watched Arthur examine the body, no doubt looking for the cause of death. There was little evidence of it, just scratches on her face, arms, hands. Bloody fingertips. Not wounds Arthur would understand.

After all, Merlin had trapped her in a tree and then allowed her to suffocate in the trunk. There was no reason Arthur should think him capable of that.

“How’d she die?” Arthur asked.

Merlin didn’t answer.

When Arthur looked up to press for one, something in Merlin’s face made him pause. Merlin wondered if Arthur could tell how unhuman Merlin felt. Or if he was finally seeing evidence of all those Merlin had killed since arriving at Camelot. Perhaps, simply, a man who hadn’t bathed in a week, shaved in a month, nor had a decent meal in years.

Arthur let Morgana’s limp hand drop and walked back over to Merlin. Still sitting on the sill, Merlin’s eyes came level with Arthur’s sternum and the blonde man trying to use every inch to demand answers.

“Why?”

Merlin wasn’t intimidated at all. By the height difference. By Arthur’s crossed arms. His steely glare.

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Why did you –“, Arthur cut himself off. Sagged at the shoulders. “Why didn’t you let us know you were alive sooner? We looked for you.”

Merlin turned his head away. “Not soon enough.”

Because he’d heard them. Watched them. They’d left those caves with no thought of where Merlin might be. If he had been injured. And when Merlin had crept upon their camp later that night, none of the knights had seemed all that keen on asking after him. And Mordred, Mordred slept near Arthur. A hand span away.

Even when the knights had woken up in the morning to discover Mordred’s throat split with his own dagger. When they knew someone dangerous was about, their first move had been to bolt for Camelot. No thought for poor Merlin, injured and left behind.

Logically, Merlin knew he could have stepped into that camp. Announced himself. But he had wanted to wait, see the knights grow into concern for him. See that he mattered. And he had felt nothing but exhaustion at the sight of Mordred – knowing that this was another risk to Arthur’s safety. Merlin wanted Arthur to be safe and stay safe.

So he went on the offensive. For once.

It paid off.

Arthur didn’t know what to say, Merlin can tell. He probably didn’t even properly remember that night, injured as he was. But he had woken up that morning and left without asking after Merlin. Maybe, two hours down the road he had turned back and asked after his manservant. But at that point, Merlin had already gone.

“We could have helped take down Morgana,” Arthur offered.

Merlin released a heavy sigh. “No. Morgana was a witch, trained in the art of the priestesses. Someone at her power level had to take her down.”

Merlin let his eyes flash gold. Arthur stumbled back half a dozen steps, hand going to his sword. But he made no move to draw it. Merlin counted that a small success.

“You learned magic,” Arthur said, “To beat Morgana.”

“Yes.” Merlin wouldn’t say he had the talent for it since birth. Not yet. Couldn’t quite bring himself to tell Arthur Merlin had been sneaking by under his nose for years.

“I went to the Catha. To the Crystal Cave. To Anhora.”

He didn’t learn magic, he learned spells. Tactics. Rituals. Tracking. He dived deep into his core, learned about magic. Albion and Emrys. That the last were, technically, the same. Immortal. Loyal and assistants to great kings. Merlin was magic, specifically Albion’s magic, called Emrys in human form.

That knowledge, that dive into power, had cost. It made him less human. Synced him to the land. Sluggish winters, excited springs, rambunctious summers, temperate falls. Merlin didn’t mind giving up humanity, he had never felt very human anyway most days.

Now, for the first time, he wondered how others would react to that piece of information.

“Why?” Arthur asked again.

Why did Merlin feel the need to learn magic. To defeat Morgana. To do it alone.

Answers were completed things, woven with emotions and history and failures.

Merlin circled back to his original purpose here. It was related, somewhat.

“I like magic,” Merlin said. He ignored Arthur’s hiss of breath. “I learned what to do with it, how to work with it properly.”

He called up a string of flame from the fire. A ribbon of water from a jug. He wove them between the fingers of his left hands as he spoke like a knight playing with a dagger. Eyes glowing softly, he continued talking.

“But I had the ability to do magic as an infant. Open the shutters for sun. Fly my toys to me. Move boxes into the way of my opponents in markets. Snap chandelier chains so they fall on singing sorceresses.”

Arthur’s breath hitched. Merlin ignored it.

“I dreamt for years of a place where I could use it freely. Where I didn’t have to be afraid of it. Hide it. Where magic was seen as good, as useful. Do you think Camelot could be like that?”

Merlin didn’t want to say how integral Arthur had been to those dreams. It felt like manipulation, using their history together to push Arthur. He didn’t want Arthur to say yes because he liked Merlin, he wanted Arthur to say yes because he believed such a place was possible.

If he said no, well, Merlin would leave.

Kilgarrah had insisted that the prophecy talked about Arthur and Camelot. The Catha had shown him it didn’t. No doubt, the dragon like the irony of Uther’s kingdom and son bringing about the golden age. But it didn’t have to be. Merlin could find a different king. Could come back at the next coronation.

Though he desperately wanted Arthur to shuffle that era in.

“Tell me why you really killed Morgana,” Arthur commanded.

Merlin felt the truth on his tongue, _to keep you safe_ , but answered differently. Answered like Emrys. “Her actions turned people away from magic. Made them fear it. She found other users, twisted their thoughts. Morgana wore the crown once, for mere days, and it was a disaster. She was driven by anger, hatred, madness. Even if she hadn’t had magic, she posed a threat to everyone. Killing her was the best option.” _And I should have done it sooner._

Arthur stared at him. Let go of his sword. Watched the fire and water play about Merlin’s fingers. Thinking. Assessing.

Merlin hadn’t asked a light question. He’d be kind. Let Arthur think. Merlin flicked away his magic toys and stood. Noticed Arthur’s back stiffen.

“Ask questions of your council. Have Geoffrey give you books. Think and debate and wonder. You’re a good king, Arthur, you care for Camelot and her people. So give my question it’s due diligence. In a week, tell me if you think magic could be free here.”

_If I could be free in your Camelot. Because I am tired of how things are now._

“Where will you be? For that week?” Arthur asked.

“I promised your wife to spend time with her this evening, and will probably sleep in my old bed tonight. But I’ll not linger.” Merlin would affect the choice too much with his presence.

“And if I want to ask questions of you? About how Camelot could be?”

Merlin shot him a smile. “Gaius would answer similar to me.”

“And if I answer no?”

Merlin held his smile, though it hurt. “I know you will do what’s best for Camelot. I’ll always respect that. And you, Arthur.”

Merlin had no idea which way Arthur leaned. After all their years of history. All his skill at reading Arthur’s face. Nothing. He’d been away too long, or the skill fled with his humanity. He felt like crying.

Merlin walked passed Morgana’s body in the chair, out the door, and into the hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really digging this Merlin as Albion thing, aren't I? 
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](uniasus.tumblr.com)


End file.
